


The Imminent Storm

by RiaMarie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Captured, Gen, Missing Daryl, Storm - Freeform, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaMarie/pseuds/RiaMarie
Summary: Daryl needs a moment to grieve after putting down his walker-turned-brother. Unbeknownst to him, the Governor and his men are still lurking in the area, looking for revenge and a little leverage. "Tell you what Rick, we're gonna make this choice a helluva lot easier: eye for an eye, savage for a savage." Alternate ending to 'This Sorrowful Life.'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at The Walking Dead fanfiction. This is an alternate ending to 'This Sorrowful Life' and reads like a mini-episode that allows the plot to fall back into place for the Season 3 finale — think of it as a bump between the episodes. I'm not big into romance so no pairings; but I do love torturing hot shaggy-haired guys so the will be a reasonable helping of angst. No slash. Rated T for swearing and torture.
> 
> *This is also posted on ff.net under my other author name, LotRia

Daryl lay against the cool ground, trying to focus on anything but the gory scene surrounding him. Dry blades of grass prickled against the skin of his neck and the fresh scent of earth around him was fouled by the rotting corpses only a few feet away — one of which was once his older brother. Daryl's chest tightened with grief, his breath hitching occasionally from the barely contained sobs. He tried taking long, slow breaths but with each exhale the emotional pain turned physical, constricting his lungs a little further each time. He could almost hear Merle's voice next to him, "Blubbering like a cry baby? That's shameful and pathetic lil brother. Git up and move on, ya hear. Stop bein' a pussy."

Daryl let loose a half-broken chuckle and managed to get his breathing back on track. His body relaxed but the sorrow and ache in his heart remained persistent. Merle was right though. He couldn't let this destroy him. He was the last Dixon to survive this mess and he would do just that, survive. He may have lost his brother, but he had a family now — people who cared about him, who counted on him — and he sure as shit wasn't going to let them down.

He just needed a few minutes to regroup, get his head straight, and some time to handle disposing of Merle's corpse.

For now though, he was content to lay in the grass and not think about anything at all. He could hear the distant shuffling and more audible noises of the remaining upright walkers — no doubt still feasting on the flesh of the recently deceased: The Governor's lackeys. The walkers had kept their distance so far, distracted by the easy meal, and were not a pressing concern. As long as he lay still, he wouldn't attract any attention from them.

Daryl had surveyed the scene upon arrival, not really knowing what to expect, but immediately recognizing the location from when Rick had his meeting with the Governor the prior day. Merle always had a taste for chaos and the younger brother expected nothing less if his sibling had decided to bring the fight here.

He would have liked to know exactly what his brother had been thinking in his last few hours. Running into a freed Michonne had been a shock in itself; but then finding this carnage had left Daryl stumped. It was no secret Merle wanted the Governor dead, but he had to know he'd be walking into a losing battle. Why hadn't he just asked for help? Daryl would have been at his side without a second thought. But that was the point, wasn't it? Protecting his little brother. Merle had always been Daryl's hero — at least when the older brother was actually around and not being a dick — and now he had sacrificed himself doing what he could to make sure his baby brother stayed safe and happy with his new family.

"Dammit Merle." Daryl mumbled into the slight breeze which had started winding its way between the crevices of the multiple farm buildings. The light blue sky and sparse clouds were melding into one overcast color, signaling a possible storm for the evening.

Good, wash away all this filth, he thought. Daryl wiped his face, casting away any evidence of the few partially-dried tears that had slipped out during the initial shock of finding his deceased brother. He was just about to sit up when he heard footsteps approaching.

He stilled and listened intently. This wasn't the drag and shuffle of a walker advancing toward him. The step was heavy, probably a work or military type boot, and moved with purpose in his direction. Now that he was truly listening, he could make out three softer sets of feet also heading toward him but from different origins, spaced out strategically like an ambush.

Shit. He swore silently, embarrassed that he hadn't noticed he wasn't alone. There had been no vehicles in the area. No other people, aside from the walkers, skulking around the buildings and silos. If these people had been lurking from the time Daryl arrived, why wait until now to attack?

The pace of the four people encroaching on his position quickened to a run and Daryl reached out for his crossbow only to have the weapon kicked from his hands. Three sets of guns glinted in the hazy sunlight, all aimed down at him.

A shadow appeared above Daryl, silhouetted against the reflective cloud cover. He started to roll to his side so he could get up, but one of those heavy boots crushed down on his shoulder, holding him in place. After a moment, Daryl's eyes were able to focus on the man's features and his suspicions were confirmed — it was the Governor and his remaining few men.

"It's a shame your biter-brother's already dead. You would have made a sizable meal for him. On your feet." The Governor's voice rolled out like oil, polluting all those unfortunate enough to hear it. Daryl scowled darkly but said nothing in response and made no effort to follow the order.

"Now." The Governor demanded, quickly growing impatient from the resistance. He locked eyes with the man on the ground, his stern look promising heavy consequences for not complying.

Daryl met his 'eye' and stared back, the rebellion evident in his words and tone, "Ain't doin' nuthin' you say, Asshole."

Three gunshots popped almost in sync, causing Daryl to flinch, but there was no pain. He realized then that the Governor's three lackeys were now facing outward and scanning their surroundings. Three new corpses lay on the ground. A few other walkers had noticed the commotion and were slowly making their way toward the group. Four more shots took care of the problem, leaving only the human threat.

The Governor was done requesting cooperation. "Get him up and bring him inside." He commanded. "Martinez, make sure he's secured. I'm gonna bring the truck around."

The Governor walked off between a couple silos, not bothering to look over his shoulder — he trusted his men to handle it. As soon their leader was out of sight, the man addressed as 'Martinez' bent down to take a firm grip on Daryl's feathery hair, pulling him up from the grass. "Come on, you inbred piece of shit."

After being dragged up the splintered wooden steps inside the building, Martinez kicked Daryl's legs out from under him, causing their prisoner to drop to his knees. Moving the redneck from the yard and into the workshop had not been an easy task and the black eye Martinez now sported was the most obvious indication of the hassle. The other two men, subconsciously rubbed at their ribs and abdomen, which were sure to be blossoming colorful bruises after having made friends with Daryl's elbow, fists, and feet.

Martinez had finally become frustrated with the struggle and drove a dive knife through Daryl's calf. The hunter grunted in surprise and fell to the dirt as the limb momentarily lost the ability to support his weight. Martinez rolled his eyes, wishing he would have just done that in the first place. After taking a moment to remove all their captive's weapons and throttling the hunter for his refusal to cooperate, they were able to drag their him into the building with much less resistance.

The blade wound still bled sluggishly, causing a red stain to saturate Daryl's pant leg. It hurt, but not unbearably — a good sign there wouldn't be too much muscle damage. Daryl hissed sharply as Martinez tightened and secured a leather strap just under his knee to serve as a tourniquet. "Can't have you bleeding out before the boss has a chance to play," he commented darkly while gathering a few more items from a work bench at the back of the room.

Daryl's hands were repositioned behind him, forearms were clasped together across the width of his back. Martinez tugged on a thick pair of leather work gloves he had found and stepped behind Daryl with a thin coil of metal held loosely in his right hand.

Daryl didn't have to wait long to find out what the wire was to be used for.

The cord was wrapped around his forearms, locking them together. It became clear right away that the wire was covered in barbs as each individual knot poked through Daryl's skin, drawing blood. Martinez seemed to take delight in every hiss and gasp from their prisoner and made sure to pull the wire taut after each wrap, driving the small spikes as deep as they'd go. He smiled as he wound the wire through the last time. "That oughta hold ya."

"Ya better hope it does." The redneck snarled back threateningly.

Daryl knew he should keep as still as possible to prevent further damage to his skin, but the metal points impaling him jostled with every movement, every breath; there was no way to escape the pain. The metal punctured through the cotton fabric of his long-sleeved shirt easily but at least his vest kept the spikes from scarring his back.

The men pulled their prisoner up into a chair at the table. Martinez wrapped an old, oil-stained rag around the bullet wound in Daryl's leg, staunching the remaining blood flow.

There was a sharp beam of light that caused the four occupants to squint toward the shop entrance. The Governor entered, accompanied by the squeal of rusty hinges. The heavy wood smacked shut behind him and the dim shadows claimed the room once again.

"You boys head outside and keep watch." Commanded the deep voice. "I'm gonna have a chat with our friend here." The Governor announced as he took the last few steps up the split-level loft, eyes locked on his prisoner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm back with a second chapter. This one is a little more serious for the T rating: language and some sexual innuendo to go with the torture. Enjoy!

Rick looked out from the prison watchtower. Days spent observing hordes of the undead passing by had made it obvious to pick out a live person approaching the fence. He raised his gun in anticipation of an attack. After the hostile interactions with Woodbury, he couldn't afford to not be cautious; everyone outside the group was a potential threat. Through the rifle scope, he was able to make out Michonne's form, sword in hand, as she strode toward the gate.

The ex-sheriff was both surprised and relieved to see that she made it back. He immediately noticed the Dixon brothers were not with her and grew concerned about what may have transpired between the three. Rick could only speculate as he waited for Michonne to make her way up to the main yard of the cell block. All the conclusions coming to mind were worst case scenarios.

He looked Michonne in the eyes as she finally got up to the gate, feeling the guilt build within his gut. From her cold expression, he was sure she had figured out he was at the heart of the plan to turn her over to the Governor. Rick stood for a minute, staring at her from the other side of the fence.

"You gonna let me in?" Michonne questioned with an arched eyebrow, breaking the silence.

Rick jerked slightly and nodded, sliding the metal fence over to allow Michonne entry. She stepped in swiftly but stopped to watch Rick close the gate. He turned back toward her, eyes cast to ground — shame over what he had done, she assumed.

Michonne had had a few hours to ponder the situation on her way back to the prison. Yes, she felt betrayed but she could also see the logic in sacrificing one person for the good of the small community.

"You had to consider it." She commented, forcing Rick finally meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry." He stated sincerely and she nodded in acceptance of the apology. It wouldn't do any good to hold a grudge about this, not if she expected to continue living with the group.

As they turned to head back toward the cell block, Rick spoke up. "What happened?"

"Merle was gonna turn me in to the Governor. He changed his mind and let me go. After that he drove off." She shrugged slightly, not really caring about the older Dixon's next move.

"Where was he headed?" Rick questioned, looking confused by the turn of events.

"Didn't say." Michonne responded distractedly while sheathing her weapon.

"And Daryl?" Rick asked.

"Ran into him on the way back. He kept goin' and probably won't be back without his brother. Said not to send anyone after him."

Rick was disappointed but not surprised. It did make him a bit more apprehensive about the impending battle for the prison. Daryl and Merle would have been strong assets. He looked over his shoulder at the tree line behind the fences, a silent prayer running through his head that the brothers would be back in time. A strong, cool breeze kicked up some loose dirt in the prison yard, dispersing the heavy humidity in the air. It was followed by a distant rumble of thunder.

*~*~*~*~*

"So, the infamous Daryl Dixon. Feels like I know so much about you. Shame we didn't get to talk when you last came to Woodbury."

"Shame you was tryin' ta kill me." Daryl responded impassively, cringing slightly when he tried to sit up straighter, the sharp barbs digging further into his arms. He kept his eyes locked on the threat across the table.

"Your brother really made a mess of things today. Was it Rick's decision to send him?" The Governor stared at his prisoner and continued when he realized he wouldn't be getting an answer. "I gotta say, I wasn't sure if your sheriff would have the backbone to go through with the trade. When Merle showed up alone, I had my concerns that this fiasco was a planned attack. Then I remembered how much of a rabid, unpredictable dog your brother always was. Figured we'd wait around after the meeting time just in case anyone came after him or to see if Rick was still planning to seal the deal."

The room was silent again and although he had his captive's attention, the younger man didn't seem all that interested in having a conversation. The Governor frowned with disappointment over the one-sided dialogue. He was going to have to push harder to get a reaction.

"Merle talked about you all the time. About how much of an asset you'd be to us if we could find you." The Governor leaned forward clasping his hands together on the surface of the table. "About how loyal you are."

Daryl didn't say anything, just continued to study the man across the table, watching for weaknesses and an opportunity to escape. He had figured out early on that his cooperation wouldn't do him any favors and he wasn't about to give the Governor anything he wanted, even simple answers.

The Governor waited for a response and stood up when he didn't receive one. He took slow steps around the table until he came up next to the prisoner.

"He talked about you so much, I was starting to wonder if certain white-trash stereotypes might be true."

Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly but he continued to look forward. This asshole was just trying to get a response from him — some misbehavior that would justify any torture he planned to deal out.

"You are definitely the prettier one," The Governor commented casually while fingering a tuft of the redneck's hair. "Bet there were lots of nights you climbed right into big brother's bed looking for comfort, maybe something more… physical. Bet Merle was happy to oblige, probably even initiated it."

It was impossible to stop the hateful scowl forming on his face, but Daryl didn't want to give this madman the response he looking for. It was obvious what the Governor was implying. Of course, the brothers had never done anything like that but it wasn't this asshole's business. Daryl could feel his blood boiling with rage despite the outer display of calm. The muscles in his limbs flexed subconsciously with the desire to pummel the Governor's face until his skull was completely crushed.

"Or maybe he forced it. He said you had a softer heart; I'm sure he meant weak -- fragile and easy to take advantage of." The Governor smirked at his captive, seeing the sudden red flush on Daryl's skin and knowing that the younger man was about to blow. "Did you scream a lot? Cry like a small girl when he plowed into you?"

"Shut the fuck up. You don' know nuthin'!" Daryl spat out venomously. He shifted his weight to stand but the Governor was ready for him and slammed him down so hard the wood table cracked with the strain of the blow. Daryl turned his head to the side, momentarily dazed by the impact.

The Governor kept his hand locked on the back of Daryl's neck, with most of his weight centered on the elbow pressing down between Daryl's shoulder blades. The Governor was conscious of the barbed wire encircling his captive's arms and took care not to brush against them. The rest of his body pressed uncomfortably close and his free hand worked its way to grasp Daryl's hip, his fingers edging under the belt.

Daryl jerked violently under him at the invasive touch. "This what you did to Maggie to get her talking?" He gasped out accusingly. It wasn't an open subject among the prison group; but Daryl was observant and he'd heard the hushed whispers.

"Heard about that, huh?" The Governor smirked slightly, a look of pride lighting his face as he stood up slowly before yanking Daryl back into the chair. "It's reliable tactic that normally yields excellent results."

"It's an insane threat made by a madman who can't deliver." Daryl commented darkly.

The Governor looked to be in deep thought as he moved back across from his captive. "I suppose you're right." He leaned forward, hands crossed and resting against the table. "A few of my men are a little less civilized. I could just turn you over to them. I'm sure they'd relish the opportunity to make good on my threat."

"Yer men wouldn't survive the night." Daryl promised in response.

The Governor smiled and studied at the younger man for a minute, gaging his next tactic. "What are you worth to your group? They came back for you at Woodbury, so you must be a core member."

Silence.

"Think Rick would hand over Michonne for your life?"

"No." Daryl answered a little too quickly.

The Governor's menacing grin grew wider, knowing it was a lie. "Bet he would. In fact, I'd bet they'd surrender the prison for you."

Daryl sat up straighter and shifted uncomfortably at the idea. His life was about to be used toward the ruin of his post-apocalyptic family. He needed to find a way out of this mess. Soon.

The Governor placed both hands flat on the table, pushing himself up from his seat. The chair made a sharp scuffing noise against the wood planks as it slid back. "We'll continue our chat later. It's time to take a little ride."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a friend (another Walking Dead fanatic) look over the chapter and discovered through our intense discussion that quite a bit needed to be rewritten to better fit the characters. Special thank you to Chez for the beta help! In this chapter, there is a little musing on the Carol/Daryl relationship… but again, NOT Caryl as I don't do romance.

Carol sat in the West watchtower, enjoying the cool breeze that had infiltrated the day's humidity. Although, she looked relax, she was focused and alert as her gaze never left the dirt path leading up to the prison gate. She sat legs crossed with her rifle resting atop her knees and her back pressed against the cold concrete surface of the guard post. Her thoughts drifted toward Rick's earlier revelation about his deal with the Governor leading to the now missing Dixon brothers.

She hoped that Daryl would return soon, preferably without Merle. The younger Dixon was part of their family and it had shocked her when he had decided to move on with his brother after the Woodbury incident. She prayed that hadn't happened again today. Carol wasn't sure where her relationship with Daryl stood, especially with his tendency to swing moods at a moment's notice, but she felt connected to him and liked to think they had a close friendship… if not something more.

Dusk was moving in faster than usual as dark storm clouds closed in on the area. An overwhelming scent of rain had filtered into the air around the prison, brought in by the increasingly powerful wind gusts. Nearby tree branches rustled their overturned leaves together, signaling a long night of severe weather to come. Carol figured if they could make it through the next hour or so the impending downpour would likely deter any attack from the Governor during the night. Unfortunately, it would also make traveling back to the prison much more difficult for Daryl if he didn't hurry his ass up, especially since he was on foot.

A patch of dust in the distance had Carol raising her binoculars and her face fell when she realized an unidentified truck was heading toward the gate. As it came closer, she could distinguish two occupants who were obviously not Daryl or Merle. Shit.

Carol whistled loudly, just as Daryl had taught her, to signal the approaching danger.

The tan Dodge Ram rumbled loudly, almost masking the distant echoing thunder, as it closed in on the front gate. Carl and Rick, who had been clearing walkers from within the outer fence, heard Carol's warning moments before the growl of an unfamiliar engine and moved quickly to opposite sides of the gate with their guns raised defensively. They each peered around the brick guard posts, ready to fire at the first threatening action.

After using the brush guard of the pickup to run down the zombies nearest the fence, the truck jerked to a stop near the gate.

The Governor waved a white piece of cloth from the driver's window before opening the door. He stood with a gray megaphone raised to his lips. Carol targeted the man's greyed head through the scope of the rifle, her muscles tense.

"Rick. Come on out, I just want to talk. No weapons." The one-eyed man requested. He lifted his other hand to verify he was only holding the horn.

Rick closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to figure out what the Governor might want to talk to him about. His no-show for the trade earlier today should have been all the answer this madman needed. Showing up here must be a trick of some sort and the former sheriff had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Rick looked over to Carl who also wore a confused, worried expression and then glanced back up to the yard of the cell block, wondering who in their group might have heard the commotion. Only Hershel had stepped out of the building so far, but the handicapped man remained close to the door at the top of the steps, immediately recognizing the tan truck as a threat from their previous encounter with the Governor. Beth's head poked around the door slightly to see what was happening and Rick saw the elderly man whisper to her sharply before shooing the girl back inside.

Hesitantly moving away from his cover behind the post, Rick walked forward with his pistol locked in hand at his side. He'd talk if that's what the Governor wanted but there was no way in Hell he'd meet the man weaponless. Rick stayed safely behind the outermost fence barrier, not wanting his attention divided between the walkers and this psycho; one enemy to focus on was enough.

The Governor stood out a few feet from the front of the truck and appeared to be unarmed. Rick relaxed his shoulders slightly but kept his finger firm against the trigger of his Python.

"Rick." The Governor nodded, acknowledging his adversary in a calm and casual manner.

"Governor." Rick responded in kind.

"Merle made quite a mess of our little deal today. We waited 'round a while, hoping you'd still show up." The Governor saw the surprised look flash across Rick's face and knew immediately that the ex-sheriff had no knowledge of the events that transpired earlier in the day. "The decision to assault us cost him his life."

"Merle's actions were his own." Rick stated and then boldly added, "We aren't handing over Michonne. She's become part of the group, family, and we're willing to fight you for what's ours."

"Glad to hear you say that… it just so happens, we have something else that's yours too." The Governor then gestured for Martinez to get something from the truck. Another man, previously unseen stood up in the truck bed and appeared to kick something heavy toward the tailgate.

Rick's weight shifted from foot to foot, nervous about the Governor's next move. In shocked silence, he watched as Daryl was pulled from the truck bed. The hunter was upright, walking on his own, but it was very clear he'd been worked over — the busted lip and slight limp were enough evidence to make Rick scowl threateningly.

In the tower, Carol gasped sharply and momentarily released one hand from the gun, stepping back slightly and raising her fingers to cover her mouth in anguished surprise. Within seconds, she recovered and her scope was back in focus although she trembled slightly in fear from a lack of control over the situation, not knowing if she could actually fire. She feared that Daryl might be killed, if not by the Governor or his men, then possibly a stray bullet in the crossfire.

Carl stayed in his defensive stance, but glared darkly at the man with the eye patch and tightened his grip on his gun, hoping his father would signal for him to shoot the asshole. From his position, he could hear the words being exchanged and was getting really pissed off by the turn of events.

"Tell you what Rick, we're gonna make this choice a helluva lot easier: eye for an eye, savage for a savage." The Governor, having noticed Carol's movement in the watchtower, roughly pulled Daryl over to use as a shield and slipped a hunting knife he took from Martinez beneath their hostage's chin.

Daryl stumbled slightly with the unexpected movement but managed to keep his balance. He stilled at the feel of steel against his neck. He wanted to tell Rick to just shoot the bastard, but the cloth they had used for his leg wound had been removed and tied into his mouth as a gag — he wasn't going to get any say in what transpired here. He trusted Rick to do what was needed to protect their family.

The Governor's cocky smile widened as he drew a trickle of blood from the skin at Daryl's neck. He could tell Rick was both confused and alarmed by the turn of events, could almost see his adversary processing the choice he would have to make.

"Is Andrea aware of this new arrangement?" Rick asked angrily, eyes unwavering from the blade against his friend's skin.

"Nah. She's a bit... pre-occupied at the moment. You know all the trouble women get into. Besides, I don't imagine she'd have the stomach for this business." Rick could tell the Governor's smug response had a hidden meaning and he hoped their former friend hadn't gotten into more trouble than she could handle.

"I reckon she'll be quite pissed when she finds out about this stand-off. She was once one of us — is still one of us — and she cares about Daryl too. If she finds out you killed him or Michonne, I doubt she'll ever forgive you." Rick challenged, hoping the pull some empathy or guilt from the Governor before he did anything drastic. His words didn't seem to have any effect.

"I'll be frank with you, Rick. We came here this evening to make an offer, not to kill anyone; but I do expect you to seriously consider what's at stake here. I'll give you the night to think it over and when we return tomorrow, I expect to see Michonne secured and standing at this gate, ready for pick up. I also demand that your people be packed and ready to head out as I'm taking the prison too. Play by my rules and I'll release Dixon. If my terms aren't met, your redneck will be receiving the punishment I had planned out for Michonne and a devastatingly slow death. Are we clear?"

Daryl attempted to shrug the Governor off and shook his head, almost frantically, side-to-side with his answer to the man's insane request, but stopped when he felt the blade slice deeper. Don't you dare, Rick. He tried to get the words out from around the gag, but the result was only a few mumbled grunts. Daryl growled in frustration and attempted to kick out as he was pushed back toward Martinez and… was it Weston they had called the larger henchman on their way here? Not that it mattered what his name was, since he would be dead soon as Daryl got himself free. His foot connected with the taller man's shin, causing Weston to yelp in surprise before he subdued their hostage with a knee to the abdomen. Daryl doubled over with a few painful coughs before his knees hit the ground, but somehow managing to keep his eye contact with Rick as he was hauled back to his feet.

Rick could read the answer in Daryl's eyes and actions, but couldn't bring himself to condemn their friend on the spot. It wasn't up to him now anyway. He had already made it clear that he wouldn't be the final say on decisions for the group any longer. They would all decide together and have an answer for the Governor in the morning.

"No further harm comes to him until we have a decision for you. I want that to be part of the deal." Rick demanded sharply as Daryl was pulled out of sight and watched the vehicle shift against its tires as his friend was forced back into the truck bed.

"I won't touch him. You have my word." The Governor agreed. "I'd shake your hand on it but there's a fence in the way." He laughed heartily, as though the barrier was some kind of joke, before making his way back to the driver's door of the truck. "We'll be over around noon."

"I'll be waiting." Rick glared as the truck did a three-point turn and pulled away. There was a loud crack of thunder, much closer than the storm had been before, and a faint flash of lightning to the West as Rick headed back up toward the cell block to fill everyone in on the Governor's new offer. Carl tailed after his father looking absolutely livid. They would have a very difficult decision to make tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got a loose idea where the story is headed, but I’m also open to suggestions if you’d like to leave some. Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING!
> 
> Please comment - I LOVE feedback.


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